A Silent Mockingjay
by TSH
Summary: Lavinia before she is taken by the Capitol. One-shot. Changed a little bit from the book.


A high keening sound breaks through the forest. I don't know if it is the scream of an animal or the scream of a person, though either would be bad. "Help," I yell, my throat raw. I know there will be nobody here – nobody to help me. Now that Tate is dead, there is nobody.

"Dead," I repeat into the air. I might as well get familiar with it, as it is how my body will be found. No, not found. The Capitol is a sly nation. I will never be found. I will be a lone girl who disappeared one night. A girl who was once wild and free. Who is now broken.

At once I realize that my hands have connected to the ground, and I tumble over, yelping as my head scrapes over the thick gnarly roots of a tree reaching into the ground like wicked feline claws. A night sky filled with tiny twinkling diamonds looks down at me for a moment, then slides away. I land facedown, spitting dirt from my mouth.

It had all started with a stupid game. In District 10, I was the girl who was independent. The girl who did everything on her own, who would slap you in the face if you even suggested the idea of help for her. I'll admit it, I was stupid and sheltered. I didn't know what the Capitol could do. I didn't know the extent of their power.

"Hey! Guess what tomorrow is?" Tate had shouted once as he walked into my house. Tate didn't bother to knock on the door or anything. I guess it was because only I lived in my house, and I had become used to him. I had made my house my own, and it was a cozy place with several blankets draped everywhere, a fireplace, and a thin rug on the floor. However, the walls were bare – I could still remember ripping the photographs of my father from the walls after his death. I threw them in the fireplace. According to me, and my house, my father never existed.

"Reaping day!" He had said when I didn't answer, reaching out to touch my cold, frail hand.

I whipped around, glaring at the sky. "Ha, once I get my hands on those old fat Capitol idiots..."

Tate nudged close to me in the armchair. "I can taste the victory..."

"The blood on the ground..." I continued.

"Blood of the Capitol, not us..."

"A sword slicing through the air..."

"A single sentence, shouted in the crowd..."

"Off with his head!"

"Snow's head rolling lopsidedly across the cobblestones..."

I giggled, breaking off the game, then pushed Tate to the ground. "Think you'll get reaped?" I asked.

"Nah. And anyway, I can take them. The Capitol can throw anything at me!"

The next day, Tate's 12-year-old brother was reaped. Tate wasn't the same for the next few days. He wouldn't talk about the Capitol, just stay glued to the television. It was sad.

Then the Capitol came. They knocked on my door, and when I answered, they attacked me. They punched me in the stomach and I doubled over on my knees. But I wasn't broken, not yet. There was still fire in me, and I squirmed through their legs and set off sprinting. I was fast. I thought they'd never catch up.

It has been three days. I shakily get up, leaning against my knee. I must go on. I won't...I won't submit to the Capitol. For Tate, and for his brother. I...won't...

My thoughts are hazy, and I collapse back onto my side, watching the all-too-familiar sky above me spin until it turns into a deep black spiral and swallows me.

I awaken again in just a few minutes, I judge, as nothing has changed. For a moment, I listen to the forest, praying that there are the sounds of the mockingjays, so I know the Capitol has not caught up with me. Having judged that they still are not here yet, I clamber to my feet, wincing at my new wounds. And I run, or jog, or lopsidedly walk, managing as best I can. I know I will not escape. It's sad that my life will mean nothing, it will be nothing – only a girl who crossed the line and was killed. I'll be forgotten in District 10, and in the Capitol. Nothing will be left of me.

Suddenly, a dash of dark brown darting by catches my attention. I stop, staring into the distance, and see a girl. She is young, about my age, and is carrying some fresh meat. My mouth waters and my bruised stomach growls. I cannot find my parched tongue in my mouth, but I look at her pleadingly. _Help. Help. Help._

She looks at me. And she walks away slowly.

And then I am running again, but this time there is something different. Something is wrong.

The mockingjays are silent.


End file.
